I wish I were you
by babua
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is the lead singer of an up-and-coming rock band but when he is in need of a new lead guitarist, an irritating American by the name of Alfred F. Jones appears. Will their encounters be the result of something more than just childhood rivalry? WARNING: Mature themes and course language


**I apologise in advance if there are errors and feel free to correct me! This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic and I have a great weakness for USUK. I hope you will enjoy it and happy reading.**

**Thank you!**

* * *

"_Why you so good?" The boy's eyes sparkled in adoration._

_The other boy looked up from his violin. "It is why ARE you so good? How can you violate the English language in such a way?"_

"_You are amazing; someday I will be just like you, playing pretty music."_

_The violinist blushed, "Well you will have to start soon, or you will never catch up to me."_

"_Oh I will, and then we can play together!"_

* * *

His eyes were drawn to the hypnotic gyrations of those glorious hips, and the mesmerising melodies flowing from the singer's lips. Alfred F. Jones was in awe of Arthur Kirkland.

Sweaty bodies pressed against him as the performance on stage reached its climax, girls screamed and boys' fist pumped to their hearts content as the guitar rift bared; Arthur yelled the chorus, encouraging the crowd to join in. The atmosphere was electrifying and it shocked Alfred's heart into a beating frenzy. Arthur winked to a group of girls who were literally jumping over each other, trying to reach the singer; they screamed even louder, and received a chuckle from the blond vocalist .

The song drew to its conclusion, but before the band made their exit Arthur drew the microphone to his lips, "Thank you!" His British accent seemed to make all the females in the room grow weak at the knee.

"I just wanted to inform you all that, due to unfortunate circumstances, our lead guitarist Antonio will no longer be playing with us. So, we are looking for any enthusiastic guitarists out there who would like to audition for the position."

The room began to buzz with excitement, Alfred was astounded, and he knew that this had to be fate. Arthur pointed to a sign-up sheet pinned on the far side of the room, and before Alfred could blink, the majority of the male audience members had surged forward and were hastily scrawling their names down, filling up the sheet.

Alfred charged through the crowd, fuelled by determination; thankfully his years of football training allowed him to push aside the others like they were merely dolls.

Before he knew it, his name was written on the sheet, perhaps slightly illegible but still there. The teenage boy's heart swelled with pride as he glanced up at the now empty stage, picturing himself standing there, playing for a screaming crowd.

* * *

"Bloody hell, they were like scavenger birds swarming around a dead carcass!" Arthur Kirkland settled himself down on the dressing room sofa, popping the cap off a beer and taking a large swig. The crowd could still be heard outside, causing an irritating buzz in the Englishman's ears.

"We offered them a spot in our awesome band, what do you expect?" The drummer Gilbert flung himself next to Arthur, grabbing his beer, taking a rather large sip, and receiving an icy glare from the Englishman.

"They are all…" Arthur snatched the beer back, "..idiots to think that we would accept anyone. I mean, Antonio is the best guitarists we know, so whoever takes his place will have to be a genius."

"Like Roderick? Elizabeta, the bassist looked up from her instrument as Arthur nodded in agreement. "Yes, someone who is as good with a guitar as Roderick is with classical instruments."

"Mon ami, such a difficult task, are you sure you are not setting your standards too high?"

"Belt up frog!" Arthur greatly detested the band's rhythm guitarist, always voting against his decisions and questioning his motives, but also because he was French and both their countrymen had a mutual dislike for one another.

"I have to agree with Francis. Eyebrows, we… ouch!" Arthur swiftly slapped the German upside the head.

"I told you never to call me that!" Gilbert held up his hands in defence, "Okay chill, but seriously, we're not even out of high school yet and most of the guitarists in the crowd are the school's students, we're probably not going to get some pro-guitarist turning up, begging on hands and knees for the position."

Arthur shrugged, still irritated, but Gilbert did have a point and all Arthur could do was mentally prepare for the gruelling auditioning process ahead.

* * *

Arthur hated to admit it but, Francis and Gilbert were right. The next Friday, auditions began. The band had borrowed their school's music room for the occasion, Francis simply sweet talked his music teacher in his French accent, and she handed over the keys without a second thought.

They had been judging auditions for hours, and so far every single performance had been, as Arthur phrased it, 'utterly atrocious'. Most students couldn't even pluck the strings correctly, while others were showcasing their 'talents' by performing complex pieces from Jimmy Hendrix.

Some were good, but all of them lacked soul, they were not realising there was more to playing music then playing the chords correctly; music was a form of expression and it was obviously clear that none of them could deliver what the band wanted.

By the afternoon, the band was beginning to become restless; Francis was now examining his reflection in the window, styling his blond locks, Gilbert was arguing with Elizabeta, as usual_, _and Arthur was lazily fiddling with his tongue stud, tapping it against his teeth. All four suddenly jumped out of their seats as a pair of large hands slammed down on the table in front of them.

"You will listen to me, da?" The enormous Ivan Braginski had entered the room and had focused his unsettling violet stare on the entire band. They nodded abruptly.

"Good." Ivan reached for his guitar, and what followed was a screeching that caused all four band members to cover their ears. Arthur wanted to tell him to stop but to be honest Braginski scarred the hell out of him; it was his menacing aura that really unnerved Arthur the most.

Once Evan finished he was gently ushered out by Elizabeta who returned slightly pale. She breathed out, "Well..that was something.."

"Shit." Arthur groaned, "How are we going to find a replacement for Antonio if no one can even play?"

"Oh mon cher, there were some promising players, what about Berwald?"

"Too pop."

Elizabeta cleared her throat, "Natalia was pretty good."

Gilbert had taken a sip of his drink at that moment, and as a result it was sprayed across the table.

"Lizzy, have you seen her? She is even creepier than Ivan; he's even scared of her." The two began to quarrel but were interrupted by a loud rapt against the door. The four looked between each other puzzled, they had already interviewed everyone. Francis began to shuffle through the sign-up sheets which Arthur snatched out of his grasp. "Every name is ticked off!"

"Hold on..there is a name here." Francis pointed to the bottom of a sheet still held in his hands.

There was a louder knock, "Fuck, wait!" Irritated, Arthur looked closer at the name, his heart sank.

"You can't be seri…" The door swung open and entered the football team's star quarterback, Alfred F. Jones. The look Alfred received from Arthur could have frozen the Pacific ocean; the boisterous American simply brushed it off and began setting up, not noticing the band's lead singer rising to his feet. "What do you think you're doing?"

Alfred looked over his shoulder, blue eyes met green. "Plugging in, am I doing something wrong or do you want to do it for me?" The others began to snicker but were silenced by Arthur, "That is not what I am asking Jones, I am asking what you are doing here?"

"I am here for my addition; my name's on the sheet."

"Ha, this is a band audition, not a football team tryout." Arthur crossed his arms not even trying to mask a sneer.

"Ah duh!" Alfred raised his guitar in the air.

"I know you're a little slow Jones, but I am basically saying, get out, to put it bluntly."

"Aww, that's not fair, even Braginski got an audition."

"I am saving you from the embarrassment, no need to thank me."

"Wait a sec Eyebrows, I think we should give the guy a chance." It took all of Arthur's strength not to strangle the German albino that instant.

"Yeah, come on EYEBROWS give a guy a chance." Alfred whined.

"Shut the fuck up Jones and get out!"

Elizabeta stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Arthur, calm down. I can literally see the steam coming from your ears, let him audition and get it over with."

Arthur reluctantly returned to his seat but looked away, anger written all over his face. Francis motioned for Alfred to begin, trying to hold back a laughing fit brought on my Arthur's behaviour.

He began like all the rest, average but as the song progressed, the band members, excluding Arthur, were bobbing their heads, smiling to each other. Arthur was now watching, his eyes following the American's hands. Arthur was caught by Alfred's gaze, but quickly looked away, releasing himself, though unable to stop the red hue appearing on his cheeks. Alfred chuckled quietly under his breath.

The song was American, something high in the charts, Arthur clicked his tongue, disappointed, but before he could raise his hand to silence the blue eyed blond, the song evolved into a mash up of the iconic music of The Rolling Stones. Alfred was now staring at Arthur's chest, an eyebrow raised; he looked down, having forgotten he was wearing a band tee of that particular group. He immediately hugged his chest covering the logo.

Alfred bounded out of the room like an overexcited puppy, saluting and shouting "Seeya!"

The four were silent, absorbing what they just heard. "Mon cher Arthur, I believe we now have a suitable candidate, non?"

"Sorry Arthur, I know you hate him, but he has way too much talent, we can't ignore it….Arthur?"

Elizabeta gave Gilbert a concerned look since the sandy blond had been staring at the same spot in the carpet since Alfred had left the room.

"Hey dude, ar…" Gilbert reached for his arm but was slapped away, and in a fit of rage, Arthur stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

_What the fuck? _Arthur could not comprehend why that golden boy could play so damn well. He was a footballer for Christ's sake. Arthur thought that he couldn't hate anyone more than the French git, but apparently the American git was worse. He hated the thought of that pretty boy playing in his band, he would never allow it.

Arthur arrived at the bathroom, kicking the door open, heading towards the mirror about to smash it with his fist,

"Woaaahhh stop! You know that will hurt right?" The Englishman spun around at the sound of the voice he dreaded to hear, almost losing his footing, and using a sink to keep himself upright. Alfred F. Jones stood next to a urinal, zipping up his fly and buttoning his pants. Arthur's eyes were instantly drawn to that particular area and his mouth went dry; he began to mumble incoherently while he fumbled a loose string on his shirt.

Alfred was now busy washing his hands in the basin next to Arthur, "Did my performance really leave you speechless?" The tanned male gave him a wide toothy grin, "I don't blame you, since I am pretty good."

Arthur wanted to slap the cocky bastard but all he could do was stutter. " Ha.. y..you wish..I'm just trying to hold back my vomit!"

The other boy laughed, "Okay then." Arthur watched him dry his hands on his shirt, leaving wet patches exposing the outline of his toned stomach underneath. Alfred smirked and headed towards the door but not before making sure to brush past Arthur whispering in his ear, "You know you need me."

The breath that touched his ear, the lips being so close, left Arthur stunned. He was soon left alone in the room not realising how heavily he was breathing.

* * *

"He can't be in the band!" Arthur stood his ground as the other band members argued in protest.

"We need him dude."

"Oui"

"There's no one else!" Elizabeta looked like she was about to turn on the water works, but Arthur raised his hand, silencing them.

"Francis, you said you knew a guy who could play and even offered to fill in if we needed him, what happened to him?"

Francis grinned.

"Hmm, I could give him a call. I have not spoken to him in quite a while." Francis pulled out his phone, and began to speak rapidly in French. After a few minutes he hung up.

"What did he say?" Arthur dearly wanted to hear a yes.

"He is fine with it, and I invited him to practice next week." The band look relieved, especially Arthur.

Gilbert grinned and raised an eyebrow suggestively at the Frenchman, "What's his name?"

"Matthew Williams."

* * *

**I don't entirely know where this fic will go but I have a general idea, however, I am not sure if I will continue with it...I am open to any suggestions and constructive criticism.**

**Cheerio****!**


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